Maybe I could manage one bucket in ten minutes. I needed something to wrap my right hand where the handle was rubbing against my skin. I wanted to wrap my knees, too… But I couldn’t tear my underwear into strips.
I decided to make do without bandages for now. Maybe it’d be all right — I couldn’t possibly run into a griefer every single time.
IT WASN’T ALL RIGHT.
After three hours I stopped trying. I realized there was no way I could finish the job. My right palm was on fire, my one working arm was shaking, and my side ached badly from constantly leaning to the right. I tried to walk straight, but the bucket banged against my legs, which were barely holding me up as it was. The worst part was that my headache was back, along with the pain in my bad elbow. It felt like it was being torn apart from the inside. I didn’t even want to think about the weird itch in my shoulders and hips where those circular scars were.
I stopped. There was no point in banging my head against the wall. Pushing myself or not, I wasn’t going to get it done. My newfound enemy and his girlfriend hit me with their dirty tricks every time they caught me out of sight of the observer domes. It was like that pair of rats had a sixth sense — they could sense danger without seeing it. When that happened, they would just pass by without touching me, whispering threats at my back. The next round they’d greet me with a push to the back or a kick to trip me up or upend my bucket. I decided to stop after one fall too many, when I almost landed on my swollen elbow. I stayed down and watched the giggling couple leave. The girl turned to me and gave me the finger again, then kissed her boyfriend on his stubbly cheek and shouted:
“Watch out, dickhead! This is Tiger! And you’re just…”
She didn’t finish. Judging by her furrowed brow, she was having trouble coming up with a suitable description for someone as wretched as me. Tiger stood in proud silence. Jabbing her pointer finger into the center of her forehead in a strange, boastful gesture, the girl added:
“I’m Buxa! And Buxa means cool! So watch out!”
They disappeared around the corner. I rested for a second, then grabbed the empty bucket and got up slowly, mumbling:
“Tiger, Buxa and Dickhead. A desperate drama on a stage of gray slime.”
This stupid attempt at a joke gave me a little spurt of energy. A spark of creativity, too. I tried collecting a full bucket of slime right by the receiver unit, since people tended to trip there, spilling their slime. Sure, it was dragged across the floor as the workers stepped on it, but I had to try. I put my bucket down, sat against the wall, and started collecting. Picked up five handfuls, then stopped again. It was impossible with just one hand. Not to mention all the threats and insults people rained down on me as they walked by. When one of them kicked my nearly empty bucket over with a loud clang, I moved away from the traffic and came to a grim conclusion.
The situation was a dire one — I just couldn’t do today’s job on my own. Even if Tiger and Buxa hadn’t harassed me, I still couldn’t have kept up. I was too weak, and the system wasn’t kind to the likes of me. If only I had a few days to get acclimated… Some decent food, a good workout or two…
I put the bucket with what little slime was inside on the receiving belt, and left Block 6 without looking back at my tormentors. As soon as I reached the hallway, I heard a beeping sound. A red light flashed and a narrow door opened in the wall, revealing some kind of shower room.
Shower required immediately.
That sounded like an order. I looked down at myself, turned around, and stepped into the shower. The shower room had metal walls with a design that mimicked tile, and metal grating covering the floor and ceiling. I heard a snorting sound above me, and a rush of lukewarm water flowed down. It lasted about five seconds. A hissing sound, and something faintly citrusy was sprayed onto my head and shoulders. I got the hint and started soaping up. Ten seconds later, I heard the snorting sound again, and quickly put my arms up. When the water flowed down, I started spinning, turning and stomping, washing off the remnants of slime and soap as fast as I could. It was obvious showers wouldn’t be long here.
I stumbled back out into the hallway and immediately, instinctively, checked my financial section. And swore out loud. There was a new debt in my long list of debts:
Balance: 0
Debt status: in debt.
Debt details:
Limb lease: 1 sol.
Immunosuppressants: 1 sol.
Vitamins: 1 sol.
First meal: 1 sol.
First water ration: 1 sol.
Shower: 1 sol.
Total debt owed: 6 sol.
